Eloisa James - Enchanting Pleasures

Having gone to bed rather worried about her future marriage, she felt renewed hope in the morning light. True, dinner had been a starched and stiff affair, during which Peter instructed her at length about members of the royal family. And he was absolutely right to point out that her education had been sadly neglected in this respect. Clearly, Prinnyas Peter called the Prince of Waleswas important to her future husband, and so she fully planned to cultivate an interest in royal doings. If she found the exploits of this Prinny a triflewell, a trifle wearisome, that was beside the point.

The important thing was that Peter was so lovely. Gabby had watched him surreptitiously as he explicated the royal familys connections to German aristocracy, and she found him fascinating. His skin was as white as ivory. She had never seen another man like him. Even the Englishmen who frequented her fathers palace were invariably tanned dark by the Indian sun. Peters hair was a soft nut-brown, and it fell in perfectly ordered curls over his brow.

Gabby hopped out of bed and went over to the window. It was the beginning of November, and the garden should, by all accounts, be withered and brown. She had heard of English winters, how the wind whistled down the steely plains, and how icy rain sliced across ones face for months at a time. How people fell asleep in heaps of snow and never woke again, and how ice balls as big as mango fruit crushed the roofs of houses, without a moments warning. Indian servants were full of tales of the English winter, stories that accounted for the bloodthirsty, formal, and rapacious nature of Englishmen. It was the cold, they told her.

But herethe garden was lovely, thick with great golden- and ruby-colored leaves and ginger-cheeked apple trees. It didnt look cold outside. Gabby pushed the heavy weight of her hair back over her shoulders and leaned close to the window. Dawn had only just come, and the house was absolutely still. It couldnt be much later than five in the morning. She listened for a moment. There was no sound at all, no distant tinkle of voices, no rumble of footsteps.

She could run outside for a moment or two and no one would be the wiser.

Quickly Gabby pulled on her night-robe and tied her hair back with a ribbon. She hesitated for a moment and then splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. The garden was calling to her, but she abhorred the feeling of a sleepy mouth.

Finally she pulled on her half boots, which looked even more shabby and stained as they peeped out from her white nightdress. Then she tiptoed out of the room, down the wide stairsand hesitated. How was she to find the garden? If she went out the front door, she would be on the street, and there was undoubtedly no access to the garden from the street.

At the bottom of the hallway was a braise doorthe door where Codswallop had disappeared with their outer garments the night before. So that was likely to lead to the servants quarters. And she knew that the drawing room filled with tiger tables didnt lead to the garden. Gabby silently turned the knob to the last door. A moment later, she pushed one of the tall garden doors ajar and slipped through, shivering a bit at the rush of cool air that greeted her.

The sky was a pale, pale blue, as unlike the hotly oiled blue of an Indian sky as possible. And the air smelled different. It was rich and watery, as if it breathed rain. Gabby drifted into the garden like a ghost, glancing down at her small boots, watching the toes become spotted and then drenched dark with dew.

Before her the garden curled off in three directions. She wandered down a path that was lined in flowers gamely hanging on to their last petalsbrilliant cherry-red roses and seashell-pink, delicate ones that grew in clusters. The air smelled different here too, spicy, like the applesauce she had tried for the first time the night before. Gabby reached out to pluck a blossom, but they were so beautiful and, admittedly, so wet that she drew back her hand.

In the distance Gabby could just hear the sounds of London waking up. The rumbling of carts drifted over the high stone walls, mingled with the sleepy waking calls of birds. She walked farther, remembering the full-throated brilliance of the orchids that grew around her fathers house and the shrieking birds that hid among those blossoms. Here the hedges hid twitters and small songs, introductory trills that sounded like songbooks for baby birds.

Her boots made whispering noises against the stone walk. She turned another slow curveand stopped.

Her future brother-in-law was seated on a stone bench. His legs were stretched out full length before him, and his head was leaning back, eyes closed. Perhaps Quill was asleep? Gabby hesitated to wake him. He must spend a good deal of time in the garden, she thought. The sun had gilded his face a deep honey brown. One thing that she had noticed immediately was how white everyone in England was. Their faces shone like chalk or like pearlwell, like her face. Her father had never allowed her to be outdoors without a bonnet. He said hed never be able to sell her on the marriage mart if the sun colored her skin.

Her future husbandPeterhad skin that was even whiter than hers. Peter was perfection, Gabby thought with a rather delicious shiver, from the top of his precisely cut brown locks to his white skin.

Quill was a darker hue altogether. Even in the dawn light his hair took on wine-colored glints, a mahogany that glowed in the rosy light and matched the toasty warm color of his skin. He needed a haircut, Gabby thought. She smiled. Quill needed someone to take care of him. She would make sure that he found a wife, just as soon as she made some London acquaintances.

Silently, Gabby tiptoed forward and seated herself trimly next to Quill on the bench.

To Gabbys dismay, he woke with a choked gasp. Im so sorry, Gabby said. I thought you were daydreaming.

Quill looked at her without a word. His eyes were heavy-lidded, so dark that she couldnt see any color.

I didnt expect to find anyone in the garden, Gabby explained cheerfully. She was used to people who woke in an irritable state. And I certainly wouldnt have woken you if Id known you were asleep. You havent been out here all night, have you?

Quill just stared at her as if she were a ghost. Gabby felt a prickle of annoyance. She had already ascertained that he felt that talking was an occupation below him.

Then she grinned at him. She really liked her big, silent brother-in-law. You might say, Good morning, Gabby. How did you sleep on your first night in England?

I may not know much about English manners, Gabby added, but I am quite certain that greeting your future family members is customary.

His response was rather less friendly. What the devil!

Gabbys smile dimmed a bit. I trust this is not your garden? No one told me that I should not come into the garden. And I do apologize for interrupting your sleep, but I was so pleased to see someone here, because I would dearly love to ask

Quill interrupted her. Gabby.

Yes?

Gabby, you are not dressed.

That seemed self-evident to Gabby. Well, I am dressed, she explained. I am wearing my night-robe, and my boots, as you can see. She stuck out her small boot from below the hem of her robe, and they both stared at it for a moment.